Golden Sun: Growth
by Hawki
Summary: Oneshot: Jenna hated gardening. But she loved making things grow.


**Growth**

I hate gardening.

Flowers, food, whatever. I hate it. It's back-breaking, mind-numbing, and I'm only doing it out of necessity. In Vault, we all have to pull our weight. And if that means growing our own food, and tending to our own animals, and not being too overt with our psynergetic abilities (Mt. Aleph is now golden for all the world to see, how much more overt can you get?), then so be it.

I miss Vale. I miss my home. I miss the sense of family I once had, and not just those of my own blood. Father and Mother are getting older – one day, I shall have to lose them again, forever this time. Felix grows ever more distant, as if troubled, as if feeling that he still has to carry the fate of Weyard on his shoulders. And those who were…are…my closest friends. They, I see less and less of, as the world grows larger. And with it, the distance travels. And as they must tend to their own affairs, and of those around them.

Did I mention that I hate gardening?

It isn't just digging around in the dirt that's bothering me, as I act like a mole trying to find something to put in my belly, it's what's growing in my belly as well. Long, sleepless nights, unable to twist or turn – no doubt a precursor to what a mewling brat will entail once the "miracle of life" has been given fruit. That, and in the day, I have to face long periods of hunger as well. It's hard enough to feed the two of us, let alone a third that hogs everything you put in your stomach. That, and everyone wants to ask how it's going, or how it's coming along, and asking other delicate questions as if I'm unaware as to the properties of my own anatomy. The miracle of life, they call it. Miracles…I'll tell you about miracles. Miracles are deeds such as returning alchemy to the world. Miracles are about discovering lost civilizations, defeating three-headed dragons, and downing every creature on the face of Weyard that has yet to learn that you can't be beat, and will attack you on a whim. Miracles are _not_ little monsters that won't stop kicking as you bend down to check the carrots. No, I'm not bending with my legs. No, I don't care about my back right now. So don't ask.

Did I mention that I _really_ hate gardening?

I grimace as "it" keeps kicking. As I glance back at the house we share outside the walls of Vault – one of many for Vale's refugees, others having fled to Kalay, others having followed Patcher to his own settlement. Will it be a boy, or a girl, I wonder? How much of me will be in him/her? I'm left to ask what the future holds even after it exits my belly, stops kicking, and finds other ways to make my life miserable. 13 years have passed since the world changed. 1 year since my own life changed eight months since "it" was put inside me. How much more has yet to change? How much will "it" see and do? What kind of world awaits him/her, as the face of Weyard shifts and turns more rapidly than the sea that surrounds the changing land?

Tell you what – it won't see any of it if it doesn't stop kicking.

"Jenna?"

I look up, carrots in my hands. Before me stands Isaac. The day is old, and I have aged as well, even as the world around me grows younger. Anyone who says "young at 30" is a bloody liar. But Isaac looks as young as ever. More hair, more muscle, but he has lost none of his youth. Lucky bastard.

"You know you're meant to take it easy," he says.

And he's lost none of his thickness either. Even Garet now seems more astute than him at times.

"Jenna?"

"Yes, well, what I _should_ do, and what I _have_ to do, don't exactly line up." I straighten my posture and rub my back, trying to ignore the kicks to my stomach, and that I'm smearing dirt all over the back of my tunic. "Where've you been?"

I know the answer. Mt. Aleph. As if that accursed mountain means anything now. Vale is gone. The world has changed. We're living our lives as best we can. But no. That's not enough for Isaac. I'd like to entertain the notion of there being another woman in his life – because how on Weyard am I supposed to compete with a mountain? At least another woman would make some sort of sense. And give me something I could take on like the good old days.

"I've…got something," Isaac ventures. "Could last a day or two."

I stare at the bounty. Rabbits. A pair of them. Somewhere in the world, a lord is dining on deer. An emperor is entertaining his guests to a feast of quail, and a tribal king on an island is getting refreshment through coconut milk. And me? Rabbit. Bloody rabbit.

"I don't like rabbits," I mutter, too tired to turn my indignation into any word longer than two syllables.

Isaac stares at me, and I know what he's thinking. Is this a joke, he wonders? I know he's asking that, because I'm asking the same thing. Meat can be a luxury, even at the best of times.

"Next time I want chicken," I continue.

"You can't hunt chicken."

"Then buy some!"

That's a joke. And "it" knows it, because it starts kicking again, as if it's the only way it can laugh. Kicks so hard that I stumble. I drop the carrots. And I'd join them in the dirt as well if Isaac didn't catch me.

"Jenna?"

I catch my breath, before meeting his eyes. Those sweet, blue, ever so young eyes. "But rabbit's fine for now," I say.

Do I kiss him first, or does he kiss me? I cannot say. The world and my life have changed so much that even the flow of time feels different. But as it happens, as hands are placed on my belly, as I remember all that we did, and all that we fought for, and all that came afterwards that led to this moment, I am reminded of one thing.

I hate gardening.

But I love making things grow.


End file.
